St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-12-25

! a true heart, soul of martyr, life of a
saint, maybe; but form and face of an
accurSed and OutcaSt race!
''Tinkle, tinkle, tinkIew Ginning
ever on the air; but always and ever,
while
days will pass with long hours dreary,
Nights all sleeplesS, starleSs grow"
rises the hopeless cry in the tinker's
heart:
"Mizella, racklie.-oh. Mizella!"
His name was Pott. "Professor''
Pott, good sirS; though none knew how
Professor" had come to be handle to
this particular Pott.
You could not have said whether he
was old or young, as he had sat there in
the orchestra of that Chicago theater
for years and literally played second
fiddle" Other performers had long de-
SPARED of conclusion whether he should
be deSpiSed or revered. Whatever came,
no complaint ever escaped the lips
of Prof. Pott. Study him as they
might, his fellows discovered moth
ing. 1t all resulted in but this:
Sometimes in tender passages of the
play, or when in opera pathos spoke
from the speechless instruments, a tear
! would be seen coursing down under
his glasses. But this was quickly
brushed away with the end of his bow,
no note being lost, for he was too con-
Scientious in his work for that. Just
this, and strange, yearning look in
his face which was sometimes caught
when his dog, Joe, from under his chair,
tugged at the frayei edge of his tr0us-
erS, and, looking up to his masters
eyes, expressed mute Joy in the melo-
dies, were all that were seen or known
of his inner life.
But Joe, the dog. more than human in
this, understood him! There is the
genius for creation, the talent of inter-
probation, and the capacity for apprecia-
| ton. Prof. Pott was an Interpreter of
music. Joe had soul for music. Each,
in his way, worshiped. Perhaps this is
what made them the best friends on
earth.
A few summers since, at the close of
the regular season at this Chicago thea
| ter, such changes came as threw both
| Prof. p oft and Joe out of the orchestra
which had been their nightly para
disc. Here and there they drifted,
| beaten and buffeted, but standing
Sturdily together, until as the first au-
tumn leaves fell they were seen at the
| st. Paul opera house with one of those
| grand star combinations which-how
many an honest actor has learned It'll
carry more posters than properties -
more promises than people," more
| SighingS than salaries, and leave in
their wake, when destruction comes,
only busy bailiffs and broken hopes.
For little time, a great glory came
| upon the professor and Joe. Though
| the manager was
''Half the time in jail.
Half the time on bail"
| though no people ever came, though no
salaries were ever paid, and though a
wan and hungry look had settled upon
his companions faces, he had become
| the leader of an orchestra! He had
risen TO bright heights of experience in
the realization of his own inspiration
and aspiration, while Joe, at his mas
ter's feet, paid affections tribute to
genius.
But soon the curtain was rung down
to remain. The lights were turned out
on this Grand Star combination for the
| last time. 1t suddenly became very,
very dark to Pott and Joe. There was
nothing behind; there seemed nothing
beyond. So they took to the road to-
gether.
Prof. Potts voice was melancholy al
best. The old violin only tuned to more
, and more mournful cadenceS. By pleas
ant Minnesota farm-houses; at the sooty
doors Of musical crOss-road smithies